In the Shadow of Sinai

by Carole Towriss

  She smiled—and any argument melted away. He still had her by the wrist, and he pulled her to him. He slid down the door a bit to bring himself to her height, wrapped his arms around her slim waist, and kissed her.

  She slipped her arms around his neck and untied the leather strip holding back his hair. She tossed it over her shoulder and slowly ran her fingers through his locks, sending pulsing waves of heat throughout his body. Then she drew her fingers lightly over his eyes, his cheeks, down his neck, and onto his bare chest. Her perfume swirled around his head and made him woozy.

  He moaned softly. His heart thumped and his chest rose and fell quickly as his breath came fast and shallow. His eyes held hers for a long moment and then his gaze traveled from her ebony eyes to her lips, to her slender neck, down the strap and along the edge of her one-shouldered tunic—had she ever worn that one before? Between her fingers dancing on his skin and the gauzy linen draping her perfect form, his thoughts started to wander where he knew they should not go.

  Tempted as he was to let those thoughts run wild, he removed his hand from around her waist and grasped her hands in his. “Stop.” His voice sounded harsher than he had intended.

  “What?”

  “You have to stop that.”

  “Why?” She furrowed her brow.

  “Because I am not your husband.” His voice was a hoarse whisper.

  She laughed. “Of course you’re not. I’m a concubine. So what?”

  “So you have to stop that.”

  “Why? You can never be my husband. That doesn’t mean I can’t love you. Or show you I love you. As long as we don’t get caught.” She pulled her hands free and slid them down his chest, to his waist and down his hips.

  Please don’t do this. He grabbed her hands again and held them tightly at her sides. He stared at her, breathing rapidly and clenching his jaw repeatedly. His heart pounded as his body fought with his mind.

  She glared back, her dark eyes flashing, almost as if she were daring him, and leaned in to kiss him.

  He turned his face aside to deflect her kiss, but nuzzled his cheek to hers. He dropped her hands and embraced her tightly, entangling his hands in her long hair. “Meri, I love you.” He whispered into her ear. “I love you more than anything. But I can’t love you like that unless I am your husband.”

  She placed both palms against his chest, pushed back, and broke free, propelling herself several feet away. “But you kissed me. I thought that was what you wanted.”

  He pushed away from the door and followed her. “To kiss you? I did want to kiss you. And I did. I don’t under—”

  “And now you’ve changed your mind?” Her voice broke, but he couldn’t tell if she was angry or hurt.

  “You’re not making any sense.”

  “You’re the one not making sense. I am the king’s concubine. I can never be wife to another.” She crossed her arms. “Don’t tell me you love me and refuse to do anything about it.” Tears filled her eyes.

  He stepped slowly toward her. “I can do something about it. And I will. Just let me expl—”

  “No, you won’t. You don’t want me either. You’re just throwing me away like everyone else does!” Tears spilled onto her cheeks. She shoved past him, flung the door open, and ran out.

  I don’t want you either? He went to the door and looked down the hall after her, but she was halfway to the harem. No one was watching, but it was too risky to follow her.

  His chest still heaving, he leaned against the doorframe and ran his fingers through his hair, leaving his hands clasped at his neck. What just happened? He didn’t even have an opportunity to tell her there was a chance he could get her out of the harem, let alone marry her.

  But now, she probably didn’t want out. At least not to be with him.

  What had he done wrong?

  Fourth month of Peret, Season of Growing

  Long morning shadows fell westward over the polished stone floor of the throne room. Kamose waited silently nearby as the trio of old men stared one another down. It had been a month since the boils had healed, but tempers had not cooled.

  “We have been over this … how many times now?” Ramses’s voice revealed his growing irritation. “If it were not for our common childhood, you would have been banished long ago. But my father liked you because the princess loved you, and out of respect for him I indulge you. But you tread perilously close to the end of my patience.” He twirled his scepter in his hand.

  “Yes, Ramses. I understand. But you must understand that I serve One greater than even you.”

  Kamose caught his breath. Ramses was a god in Egypt. No matter what Moses thought, to voice something like that aloud was foolish.

  Ramses rose from his throne, descended the dais, and sauntered toward Moses. His double crown glistened and bounced sunlight off the limestone walls. Guards from all corners of the room were instantly at Pharaoh’s side.

  Kamose took his place on the king’s right, his hand on the dagger that rested on his hip. Although he was no longer sure Ramses was god, his job was still to protect the man from all dangers.

  Ramses was taller than either of the brothers. He stood, arms crossed, surrounded by armed guards, glaring down at them. “Did you have a particular reason for appearing before me, or are you here only to anger me?”

  Moses, in his simple robe and carrying a shepherd’s staff, looked more sure of himself than the king. He held his ground, spoke calmly, and his eyes never wavered from the ruler’s. The armed guards appeared to have no impact on him, although Aaron took several steps back.

  “If you do not free us, Yahweh will send the full force of His wrath against you and your people, so you will finally know there is no one like Him in all the earth, among all your innumerable gods.” Moses spoke softly and calmly. “By now He could have wiped Egypt from the earth, but He has time and again chosen to give you another chance. Yet you continue to defy Him. At this time tomorrow, a storm unlike any other will come upon Egypt—”

  “I like rain.” Ramses backed off and circled Moses. “Nefertari and I enjoy sitting in our barge on the Nile and listening to the rain on the roof, rare as it is. We find it … pleasant.”

  “I said storm, not rain. Darkness will cover the sun. The sky will become your enemy, and your sky goddess Nut will not be able to protect you. This tempest will destroy your barge. It will annihilate your animals, and your men. It will demolish your buildings and obliterate your crops. If you are wise, you will order your men to bring all animals and slaves inside to protect them from the storm that is to come, or every living thing left outdoors will be wiped out.”

  “I will not! That’s impossible!” The king bellowed, lifting his scepter high. “I do not believe you! Leave me now!”

  Moses shrugged and did as he was told.

  Kamose rushed outside behind the palace to the army’s animal enclosures. There was not enough room in the stables to house all the horses at one time, not even just the smaller herd they had stolen from the Israelites and those from the border patrols. There had never been a need to shelter them; on the coldest nights blankets were enough for horses.

  He called to the nearest officer. “Build a shelter big enough to cover the horses. It doesn’t need to have sides, but must be done before tomorrow morning.”

  “A shelter? For what?”

  Kamose shot the officer a withering look. “Are you questioning me?”

  “No, Captain. I will start immediately.”

  As the sun reached its zenith, Kamose crossed the sand west of the palace to check on the new stables. He found instead that half of the soldiers had been summoned inside.

  “Who called them away?” He barked at a young man.

  “Jambres, Captain.”

  “For what?”

  “I do not know. He ordered; we obeyed.”

  “And what about my orders?”

  “He said he outranked you, Captain.”

  Kamose’s cheeks grew hot as blood rose to
his face.

  The soldier visibly shrank before him.

  Kamose marched to the palace, straight to Jambres’s rooms. There Kamose found his soldiers conscripted as common workmen, moving furniture in the sorcerer’s quarters. He raced to Jambres, grabbed his arm, and spun him around.

  “Who do you think you are, taking my soldiers and telling my men you outrank me?”

  Jambres yanked his arm free. “I need workers. And they weren’t doing anything important.” He turned to two soldiers moving a bed and pointed a bony, ringed finger toward the back of the room. “No, a little farther back. Right there.”

  “They were obeying my orders. Whether you think my commands are important or not, is immaterial.”

  “Not if you are making the king look like a fool.”

  “And how am I doing that?” Kamose put his fists on his hips.

  “By bringing in the horses and men on the word of that Israelite.” Jambres arranged several bottles of potion on a nearby shelf.

  Kamose stepped closer to him. “It is my job to protect the king. So it is my decision. My army. My men. My horses.” He put his thumb to his chest.

  “But it is my job to protect the spiritual image of the king.”

  Kamose took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. “According to whom?”

  “According to me. And if you bring in the horses and men, it makes him look like he believes Moses. I won’t let you do that.”

  The captain neared the magician. “Try—and—stop—me.” Kamose punctuated each word by bringing his face closer to Jambres’s.

  Kamose strode to the center of the room. “Soldiers!” His men rushed to face him and stood in formation. “Move out. Now!” They immediately left the room.

  Kamose marched back over to Jambres, and brought his mouth next to the magician’s ear.

  “If you ever order my men to do anything again, you will regret it. You do not outrank me, and you never will.”

  After a long night, Kamose awoke from a dreamless sleep. He dressed, grabbed his dagger, and sprinted out the door.

  He checked once again to see that the guards and slaves had been ushered into the palace and then jogged through the enclosed stables, making sure all the doors were secured. He then ran to the makeshift shelter for the hundred or so horses that did not fit in the stables. Several soldiers had refused to go into the palace, choosing to remain at their posts instead, in the belief there would be no storm, no death.

  The isolated raindrops became a slow drizzle. Kamose waited in the safety of the shelter, surveying the terrain. To the east, along the banks of the Nile, stretched the “black land,” full of crops that would sustain the people for the coming year. Westward lay the “red land,” containing only inhospitable desert. At this moment all of it was void of animal life; the creatures seemed to know something was wrong and had taken cover. Even the birds had flown to safer skies, wherever those were. The only sound was that of the rain.

  The soft drizzle turned into a downpour. Kamose stroked the horses, calming them one by one, whispering words meant only for them. He rubbed his hand down their noses, along their necks. The mounts relaxed at his touch. He checked the ropes that tied each horse to a line strung between two of the permanent stables.

  The rain pounded the roof and Kamose cautiously put out his hand. The drops were so large and fell so hard they stung.

  Rain was rare, but he knew it should not hurt. He pulled his hand back and shook it. He looked at the ground. The “raindrop” was actually ice. A tiny ball of ice. He reached down and picked it up, and was surprised to see it melt in his palm. He had seen ice when he was a young soldier, patrolling the high mountains to the south, but there had never been ice in the deserts of Egypt.

  As the hail melted, more fell to the ground around it. Bigger and bigger spheres fell, until some were larger than his closed fist. Black clouds moved between sun and earth and the sky darkened. Thunder exploded and launched noise from one side of the sky to the other. The heavens shuddered. Lightning sliced the sky into pieces like broken pottery.

  Kamose backed farther under the roof made of cedar that had been imported for chariots. The noise of the sky at war with earth drummed in his head. Light flashed off and on. Horses stomped and neighed, and the captain again checked that each valuable animal was tied securely.

  In the bursts of lightning, Kamose made out one of his men racing for the palace. He slipped in the mud, rose and fell again as hail as big as pomegranates pummeled him. Finally the man tumbled to the ground and did not get up.

  Soldier’s instincts forced Kamose to try to rescue his comrade, but the hail assaulted him and he had to retreat after only a few steps. Under the shelter again, Kamose rammed his fist into a post then groaned and leaned his forehead against it. He closed his eyes tightly.

  How many more were out there? He went to the edge of the shelter, peered into the darkness. Whenever the lightning flared he searched to see if any more of his men were headed for the palace, or worse, down. But most were stationed too far away, and he would have to wait to find out if they had survived.

  Why hadn’t they listened?

  In the aftermath of the storm, Bezalel walked among the fields west of the Nile. He dragged his hands along the few naked stalks still standing; most were flattened. The flax and barley, both ripe for harvest, were destroyed. Not a grain remained. Food would be scarce for Egypt this year. There was wheat and spelt left, but over half the grain supply was gone. Barley was the main crop for bread and beer.

  He nearly bumped into Kamose, who stood, preoccupied, looking over the fields. A large purple bruise covered his shoulder.

  “Bezalel! Why are you here?”

  “I wanted to see what damage the hail had done.”

  “Is it true your fields were untouched?” Kamose’s voice registered his disbelief.

  “Yes. Our bar—” Bezalel couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

  Kamose pulled on an empty stalk of flax. He closed his eyes for a moment. “I lost … so many men.” He tore at the flax. His huge hands dwarfed the stripped branch as he stared across the fields. His eyes glazed. “I tried to make them all come inside. I ordered them to. But they knew the king had said they didn’t have to, and so they chose to stay at their posts in the field. After the storm passed, I went to gather the bodies … I could hardly recognize them. They looked like they were beaten, covered in bruises….”

  “Kamose, I’m sorry.”

  “I had to identify some of them by their daggers.” Kamose’s breathing was ragged, but he quickly regained his self-control, his face revealing nothing of his despair. “Why was Goshen spared?”

  “El Shaddai wants Pharaoh to release us. Egypt needs the lesson, not Israel.” Bezalel knew that wasn’t the answer Kamose wanted, but it was the truth.

  “After this, I’d let you go.”

  Bezalel ambled through his village after dark and brooded over the events of the last months. The moon’s light shone on the narrow, packed-dirt streets, illuminating children playing dice games, mothers cooking behind the houses in the cool night air, and cats crisscrossing the alleys. The certainty that something terrible would happen under the next full moon stayed in the back of his mind like a heron lying in wait for a Nile perch.

  Since the gnats, nothing had touched the Israelites. Most of the time, they were completely unaware anything had taken place at all until Moses told them.

  But what about Meri?

  She had suffered every time. So had Kamose. Ahmose was spared because Bezalel had brought him home. But the only reason he had done that was because Jannes had beaten him so badly. And the only reason he knew the boy was beaten was because he worked in the palace, which until recently had ruined his life.

  There was no way to sort it all out.

  El Shaddai had promised He would protect His people, and He had. In fact, Bezalel could not think of a single promise Shaddai had made He had not kept. Perhaps He had not done things a
s fast or in the way Bezalel might have liked, but He kept his word.

  Is there any reason to think He will not deliver on all His promises?

  There really wasn’t. Which meant sooner or later, Ramses would release them from slavery.

  Sabba said he needed to choose a side. Not in so many words, but that was what he meant. He could cling to El Shaddai’s power no matter what he saw happening around him, or live in confusion and fear.

  He wasn’t altogether sure about everything yet. He knew only two things. Shaddai was definitely in control, and they would be leaving Egypt soon. He had to find a way to bring Meri with him.

  If she still wanted him.

  Ten

  Fourth month of Peret, Season of Growing

  Bezalel put a piece of dried meat on his plate and set the platter back on the table. “Sabba?”

  “Yes, habibi.”

  “Why would Shaddai protect me even if I am angry with Him?”

  “Would you let harm come to Ahmose just because he was angry with you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “And so it is with El Shaddai. He created you. He loves you. You are His, whether you accept it or not. And He will do as He says and keep His word. He said His people would be protected, and that is what He does.”

  “I see.”

  Sabba took a drink of juice. “So, you are not so angry anymore?”

  Bezalel pursed his lips and thought a few moments before he answered. “I am starting to see how things can fit together. I don’t understand it all, but I am beginning to accept. Bad things can lead to good things; good things can lead to worse things. It depends on how I look at it, like you said.” He sighed. “It is hard.”

  “And does the girl in the harem have anything to do with this change in ‘how you look at it’?”

  Bezalel cheeks grew warm. “Maybe some. Maybe a lot. I think I have fallen in love with her. Which is dangerous, I know. But she doesn’t belong there.”

  “Habibi, however did you even meet a concubine?”

  Bezalel told Sabba about Meri as they finished their meal. Then he was silent a few moments. “I want to marry her.”